


Hard Silence

by B_Uthoughtwrong



Series: Geralt, The Witcher, In Domestic Bliss... Kinda [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Domestic, F/M, Fluff, Pregnancy Scares, Reader-Insert, Smut, pregnancy anxiety, smut if u squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:14:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23543707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/B_Uthoughtwrong/pseuds/B_Uthoughtwrong
Summary: Bearing Geralt’s child is taking a toll on your mental health and self-confidence.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Reader
Series: Geralt, The Witcher, In Domestic Bliss... Kinda [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1694326
Comments: 2
Kudos: 107





	Hard Silence

**Author's Note:**

> Idk man big scary witcher being super caring is super hot

You lie in bed, heart pounding, skin sticky, belly large, with tears threatening to fall from the corner of your eyes. You were in bliss five minutes ago, head drunk from deep kisses. But now, you were disgusting—naked in these sheets.  
  
Your eyes were open to the sight of the white ceiling you’ve yet to clean again. To your left was a window with drapes drawn open. Non-malicious sunshine cascading on your form. You were sure you’re two bites away from making your lower lip bleed.  
  
Your small bedroom feels vast, in a sense there is no where to hide. Somehow that’s what it feels to you, especially with the lush vista surrounding your cottage.  
  
Your witcher lies next to you, drowsy, _somehow_ satisfied.  
  
You dare not turn to him in fear of bursting into tears—well, _more tears._  
  
You bring your hands to your belly, literally brimming with life. You know how much you want this child, how happy this makes you, how happy this makes Geralt. But right now, a hot tear runs down your temples, you feel repulsed by yourself.  
  
You’re swollen. You’re a large whale. _Ugh._  
  
And it doesn’t help that the body lying next to you is 100% impressive muscle and solid beauty.  
  
  
  
You were far from whatever semblance of a beauty you were when he had met you. And now, for sure, this long, silver haired creature only pities you and was bored out looking for pleasure. Why else would he agree taking you to bed in such a state?  
  
You slap your hands to your mouth at the thought and hold in the tears and incoming wailing noises. Bless your soul, dear goodness, lest you wake Geralt up with your useless crying.  
  
You keep your silence, but the tears can’t help but fall down.  
  
You purse your lips and wipe your thickening snot. You take deep breathes to calm yourself down. That is, until Geralt shifts beside you.  
  
  
  
Your face falls. You turn your head to the left, to where he was not. He rolls on his back. You take a moment to furrow your brows and wonder loudly in your mind if he is done.  
  
You take a breath and turn to examine if your husband is asleep. But when you turn your head opposite, you are face with woken eyes. You gasp and clutch your bare chest. Geralt knits his brows and props himself up on his elbows. “Temptress, what’s wrong?” he raps in an agitatingly deep tone.  
  
You gulp but bite your tongue. _Tempress he says._ What a hateful term of endearment. Why the only thing you could tempt… the only thing you could tempts… scratch that, the only thing that could tempt you is a freshly bakes pie. What you wouldn’t _give_ to shove a pie down your throat right now.  
  
  
  
  
Witcher uses his fingers to pulls your hair away from your neck and kisses your shoulder. He firmly repeats, “what’s wrong?”  
  
You whimper and turn to him. Tears just naturally push themselves out from your eyes. “Do--” your voice breaks. You sniffle, “do you still want me like this?”  
  
Geralt freezes for a moment. His face goes sour at the blank answer he has in his head. He is baffled and whole heartedly unable to understand your question. So he dumbly shuts his eyes, raises his brows, and groans out a, _“what?”_  
  
It spikes your anxiety and aggravates you. You cry out emotionally, “I’M HIDEOUS, GERALT! Look I’m about to explode.”  
  
  
  
As you sob, Geralt gathers his thoughts and scratches his face in distress. “Are you insinuating I find you unattractive because you’re pregnant… _with my child?”_ He grunts louder than he ought to.  
  
“Surely, I cannot excite you when all I offer is a pent up, frustrated libido with a watermelon constantly in between us.”  
  
“Temptress--”  
  
“Oh _fuck_ off! Don’t call me that, _pig,”_ you growl, moving to sit yourself up. Witcher is quick to help you up. “Don’t touch me, I don’t need your help.”  
  
You rip a discarded robe up from the floor. Tears are practically gushing out of your eyes.   
  
  
  
The bed dips. The Witcher is upon you. He bends down and catches your cheeks in his palms. You look at up at him with scorn, streaks of tears streaming down your face. He calls your name. Your anger disappears into sorrow. You cover your body from his sight. Geralt sighs and calls you to stop.  
  
“You are not hideous.”  
  
You instantly scoff, “Easy for you to say, Witcher, when your stomach is flat and bound with muscle.” You swat his hands off you angrily.  
  
He kneels down in front of you. The gesture is so striking. He didn’t even do that when he gave you a ring. “You are the most exquisite thing my damned two eyes have been blessed to have ever seen.”  
  
You scoff at his well-spoken words. A tear falls to your belly. “Sounds like a lot of bullshit to me,” you say defeated.   
  
Geralt places his hand on your right ear. His face twitches and falls soft in sadness. “The day I met you, you could’ve made me worship the ground you walked on, and I’d do it.” He knits his brows, “Now, I’d do it with more vigor because of the joy you are giving me.”  
  
  
  
You turn to him finally. His chest clenches. He takes his two thumbs and wipes away the tears so softly in fear of hurting your soft skin with his calloused hands.

“You are my world. I would do anything for you, for _our_ child.”  
  
Your heart is swimming, it feels like. You find yourself to smile and nod. Geralt is relieved.   
  
He places his forehead on yours. You instinctively rub your noses together.  
  
“And beautiful,” he pecks your lips, “whatever love making you have to offer, I’ll eat right up cause your mewls are music to my ears.”  
  
You shove his head in annoyance. Geralt is pleased enough to chuckle.


End file.
